


Non Moriatur, Non Omnibus Dormio

by DearLazerBunny



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-04 06:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14586861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DearLazerBunny/pseuds/DearLazerBunny
Summary: When Richard Brooks turns up dead, Jim Moriarty’s sister takes the opportunity to falsely identify the body and go on the run. Little does she know how wrapped up she will soon become in her brother’s crimes.





	1. Incipit Prologus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Richard Brooks dies, Jim Moriarty’s sister takes the opportunity to falsely identify the body to go on the run. Little does she know how soon she will be wrapped up in her brother’s crimes.

He comes and visits me at night. Slipping under the window, in the shadows of a child's nightmare, he wafts in on the moonlight and perches on the edge of my consciousness. After nine years I have long since stopped doubting his ability to find me. He always comes. There is no barren wasteland where I could hide, and no safe place in my mind he could not infiltrate.

If you could see him, if your imagination were somehow as torn and scarred as mine and could conjure up his face, you would not flinch as I do. Not at first. A perfectly respectable person, you might think, just a slight man in an immaculate suit and a lopsided half smile. But if you move closer, you will see the malice in his smile, the black eyes of a sadist whose depth is unfathomable. The blood staining his suit and the knife held casually in his left hand flicker in and out of reality while his words, which bear the gargoyle's touch, paralyze you.

My brother, the devil.

He wanders into my room for his uninvited interlude, casually skimming his hands over my possessions as if he owns them, taking in my white-walled dorm room still messy from finals.Without warning he hurls a book towards the wall, where it thuds on impact and slides down to the floor. Wherever he passes posters fall from the wall and papers wilt as if they've been burned. Terrified, I draw my knees up to my chin and say nothing, fighting to keep my heart steady. He is like a hellhound. He smells fear. His brown eyes glow unnaturally golden at my obvious distress, and when he sits on the edge of my bed I leap to the other side of the room out of habit and muscle memory.

"Oh, my dear Emma," he sighs. "Still afraid, after all this time? You should be proud, running as long as you have." He bares his teeth in a feral grin. "Not that it matters. I'll always be with you, my sweet."

"Go away." My own weak voice disgusts me, but it's all I can muster in the presence of the monster before me.

He laughs, washing the room in a black substance that sticks to my skin when it touches me. In attempted retaliation I force myself to go and lay back down on my narrow bed mere inches from him. Wrapping my thin blanket around me, I throw my head down and squeeze my eyes so tightly together I see spots.

"Go away!" I use my usual trick- imagining me and mom shopping in downtown Portland, trying on stupid hats and laughing at our reflections. It was cold, and wearing a sweater masked the cuts James had inflicted the night before. It was one of the few days I remember being happy.

He frowns and shifts uncomfortably, fading in and out of the light coming in my window, but in the end he solidifies and gives me mock applause.

"That's not going to work much longer, Emma. Daddy's had enough now..." I cringe listening to his singsong voice laced with unspoken threats. Floating over to my desk, he reaches through the tabletop and pulls my journal out of the drawer I keep locked in the bottom drawer. I don't know why he bothers- he burned anything incriminating him years ago.

"Booooring! Why don't you ever have anything interesting to say?" He turns on me, advancing, blue fire sparking out of his eyes. I have begun shaking, as an unearthly cold has filled the room. But I'm quiet. I've learned by now that nothing I say will placate him.

"Well? Are you stupid? Can't you ever say anything?" A blunt whip fades into his hand, his preferred weapon of choice. The bruises look more natural than anything else.

"I really am disappointed in you. I would have thought I had taught you better." He pauses, loosening his collar and stretching his arms. I, however, am preparing for the inevitable. He cocks his head, considering my meek position. "I suppose you'll just have to be punished."

My eyes don't register his movement, but the pain in my arm does. Abandoning all pretenses of calm, I try to attack him while the whip lashes me over and over and his hateful laughter fills the room. Screaming, eyes stinging from the blood and tears, I throw at him everything I have- books, pictures, curses, pleading. He sidesteps them easily. My hysterical voice is offset by the melodic pain. Old wounds rise to the surface of my skin and burst, blood spilling onto the floor. It tuns black where it pools around his feet.

I am six again. I am home in my pink bedroom, helpless and small and afraid, and there is nothing I can do against the incarnation of Hell that has tortured me for all my pathetic childhood. So I collapse, hands over my head, shivering, and wait for sunrise.


	2. Latine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Richard Brooks turns up dead, Jim Moriarty’s sister takes the opportunity to falsely identify the body and go on the run. Little does she know how wrapped up she will soon become in her brother’s crimes.

Latin class is boring as hell.

I mastered reading and writing the dead language when I was eight, and was speaking it fluently by ten. Of course, that just gave James even more ammunition against me, and he usually spoke to me exclusively in Latin. Trying to tear away my love for it by speaking cursed words. It worked, for the most part- I haven’t spoken a word of it until this class. But I needed an easy A and the professor is one of my favorites in the entire academy, so I suffer through. Despite the nightmares it gives me.

“Okay, class, please pass in your papers to the front and you’re all dismissed.” Professor Tutum adjusts his tweed jacket and smiles as the class collectively groans, turning in a particularly difficult paper. He seems to take pride in the assignments that give us as much grief as possible. Of course, I’ve never failed one yet, making me his favorite student. “And Emma, dear, would you stay after class for a moment?”

I snap out of my daydreaming. “Sure, professor.”

I keep taking notes as the rest of my peers filter out of the room, grumbling and groaning. “As usual, Ms. Emma, a perfect paper.” He lightly tosses my most recent essay down on my desk, where a large A+ is marked in red ink. “Now, will you please consider becoming my TA? I don’t know how many more times I can ask without looking foolish, you understand.”

We’ve been going back and forth on this for months now- he wants me on as a sort of apprentice, teaching classes and taking private lessons from himself to further my education. The only problem is, I’m supposed to keep a low profile here. Very low. And in every other class, I do- average grades, mediocre student. Nothing to look at. But a high grade in here will raise my GPA so I couldn’t just throw it like I do my other classes. I had to try. And now look where it’s gotten me.

“We’ve been over this.” I stand and start shoving books into my bag. “I have no interest in standing in front of a bunch of students and lecturing to them. That’s your job.”

“But you have such a gift, my dear!” He almost sounds like he’s pleading with me. “Never in all my years have I seen a natural such as yourself when it comes to the language- barring myself, of course.” He pushes his glasses farther up his nose and chuckles in the way only old history professors can do. “Just think of what you could accomplish with private study! A world of possibility!”

That’s exactly what I don’t need- a world opening up to me. I need to stay in my little bubble and keep my head down, full stop. “Professor, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Can you tell me why, miss Emma?”

I glance around. No one is in the room but being paranoid is what’s kept me alive this long. And he seems trustworthy enough- I’ve had him for classes all four years here, and he’s probably the only thing I could consider a friend on this campus. “Can I speak to you in your office? Privately?”

He looks a little surprised, but nods, gesturing to his book-laden study just off the classroom. I love is office- wall to wall old books and tomes with dust on every page. It’s a treasure trove, but more importantly it feels like the inner sanctum. Those books are my armor, protecting me from the outside world. Ive spent more hours in here than I can count. Once we’re inside, I fiddle with the zipper on my backpack as he sits back in his chair, fingers steepled, waiting. Let’s get this over with, I guess.

“What I’m about to tell you is extremely confidential information. It is imperative that it stays just between you and me. The only other person on campus who knows this is the headmaster, and that’s only because we had no choice but to tell him. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Professor Tutum frowns and leans forward onto his desk, elbows resting on the ancient wood. “Miss Emma… are you in some sort of trouble?”

I laugh mirthlessly. “Kind of.” I take a deep breath. “My name is Emma, but not Emma Johnson. I’m here under the witness protection program of the United States.”

“Oh. Oh my.” He blanches a little. “Are you quite all right, Emma?”

“My- the person who sent us into the program, he hasn’t reappeared in a while. So for the most part, yes. But I’m sort of hiding out here until they can figure out what to do with me.” What they want me to do is join the FBI and help them solve the cases they’re too stupid to figure out themselves. Apparently I tested at a high aptitude, or something. But I have no interest in that. “So you see why I cant get up in front of a bunch of students and teach. Too much exposure, too many faces. I’m supposed to be laying low, not putting myself in front of a crowd.”

“I understand completely.” He nods, once, twice. The concerned look in his eyes hasn’t gone away. “I thank you for trusting me enough to tell me, Emma. If you ever need anything, I’m here for you.”

“Well, you are my favorite teacher.” I give him a small smile and collect my things. “And I really do appreciate the offer. It means a lot to me to know- to know that I’m actually good at something.

“More like extraordinary.” He returns my smile. “As I said, you have a true gift. Now, if you ever need to talk about… anything, my door is always open to you.”

I nod gratefully at him and turn to leave, shutting the door to the little haven quietly behind me. 


	3. Ita Ex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Richard Brooks turns up dead, Jim Moriarty’s sister takes the opportunity to falsely identify the body and go on the run. Little does she know how wrapped up she will soon become in her brother’s crimes.

I sit on the quad with a government-issued laptop and try to concentrate on schoolwork, but I have no interest in it. It’s all too easy or too pointless to catch my attention. Someone tries to wave at me as she crosses the lawn- I think she’s in my chem class- but I pull my hood up father over my head and ignore her, trying to isolate myself as much as possible. Waving leads to chatting which leads to answers I don’t and can’t have.

My email pings and I switch tabs, refreshing the page until an unknown sender pops up at the top. G.lestrade@scotlandyard... Scotland Yard? As in the Scotland Yard? Fingers flying over the keyboard, I quickly type g+lestrade+Scotland+yard into google and hit return. Pages and pages of results pop up, so I just scan the first few. DI Greg Lestrade, of Scotland Yard. Most notable for his work with someone called Sherlock Holmes. I’ll be damned. Why is Scotland Yard emailing me?

_From: g.lestrade@scotlandyard.uk_  
_To: emma.brooks@allington.edu_  
_Subject: Request for Identification_

_Ms. Brooks,_  
_It is to our sincere apologies we must inform you that the body of Richard Brooks was found on 11 May 2015. Police were unable to find your phone number or contact information except your email. If convenient, Scotland Yard is providing a one-way ticket to London so you may aide in identifying the body of your brother [see **attachment** ]._

It goes on to describe what all identifying the body entails, accommodations to be made, etc. clearly a wrong address; they must have seen the last name and just assumed. How they misinterpreted witnesses to someone all the way over in the US I have no idea.

Another email pings in and I open another tab, discarding the Brooks email. A message from  
Tutum.

_From: p.tutum@allington.edu_  
To: Emma.brooks@allington.edu  
Subject: Meeting

_Emma,  
May I see you in my office ASAP?_

He doesn’t sign off, like he was in a rush. Strange. Especially strange considering I just saw him a few hours ago, I don’t know what else he could possibly want. Probably to beg me for come be his assistant again. I grab my bag and sling it around my shoulder, heading for the door.

Maybe I will consider taking his offer, just to get him off my back.


	4. Et Pulsare Ostium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Richard Brooks turns up dead, Jim Moriarty’s sister takes the opportunity to falsely identify the body and go on the run. Little does she know how wrapped up she will soon become in her brother’s crimes.

The knock on the door surprised me. It was after office hours, though most students never pay attention to those, so I was prepared to turn whoever it was away. Imagine my shock when three men in black suits come through and sit down across from me like they own the place.

“Peter Tutum?” The voice is deep but soft. I have to strain to hear him.

“Y- yes, that would be me. Might I ask who you gentlemen are?”

“FBI.” The third man was examining my bookshelf in great detail, running his hands over the spines like he wanted to rip them off the shelves. I didn’t like it. “We’re here to discuss a student of yours who is under our jurisdiction.”

I knew immediately they were talking about you, of course, considering your confession had come just hours earlier, but I wasn’t going to tell them that. “I’m afraid I’m not allowed to discuss student’s private information-”

“Emma Brooks.” He tossed a folder with a picture attached onto my desk. It was you, but, well. Brown hair, different colored eyes. It made me realize the lengths to which you went to hide. “What do you know about her?”

“Not a lot, I’m afraid. Emma prefers to keep to herself.”

“And yet she is seen in your office nearly every day.”

“We’re… friendly, you could say.”

“Then. What do you know about her?”

I sighed. “She’s an excellent student in the study of the Latin language. That is the beginning and end of my knowledge of Ms. Brooks.”

“Does she have many friends?”

The question caught me off guard. “I… I’m afraid I wouldn’t know.”

“What sort of behavior does she exhibit? Is she standoffish, or does she participate in class? Does she enjoy working with her classmates?”

“May I ask, gentlemen, what your interest is in my student?”

The man shakes his head wordlessly. The other two had begun conversing quietly behind the first’s back, obviously discussing the ongoing conversation. “All we ask is you answer our questions.”

“I have no answers to give, gentlemen, as I said before.” I stood, and the man stood with me. “Now, I’m afraid I must ask you to leave. Office hours are long over.”

He nodded silently and gestured to his companions, who filed out. Before he left, he turned to me and handed me a thick white business card printed in smooth ink. “If you anything… odd, please give us a call.”  
He pauses. “And be careful.”

And then they were gone, the door closing behind them. Or so I thought. They stood outside my door and continued whispering amongst themselves. I stood close to the closed door and put my ear to the frosted glass, but I only caught three words. Bring her in.

“Which is why, miss Emma,” Professor Tutum said, cleaning his glasses spotless on the hem of his vest, “you need to leave. Immediately.”


	5. Abite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Richard Brooks turns up dead, Jim Moriarty’s sister takes the opportunity to falsely identify the body and go on the run. Little does she know how wrapped up she will soon become in her brother’s crimes.

“Leave?” My eyebrows crease as his concerned eyes scan me like I’m a dead girl. “I don’t understand. The FBI check up on me from time to time, it’s pretty normal-”

“I will refer you to the document they left me.” He hands over a Manila folder with my basic information stamped on the outside. I flip it open. Stats and figures, charts and graphs, typed summaries of conversations I’ve had with various agents.

“And this is important because…?”

“Page three, if you please. The clock is ticking.”

My aptitude test. It’s full of things I don’t understand. “Have I ever told you that I also majored in psychology, Emma?”

“No, I don’t think you mentioned. That’s convenient.”

“Well, to put it bluntly- it appears the FBI has labeled you a psychopath.”

I blanch. “Is… that what all this means?”

“Yes. They’ve measured your emotional aptitude in several situations, and they appear to have taken into consideration… familial ties, as well.”

James. James is a psychopath, so they think I’m a psychopath. They think I’m like him. They think I could do the things that he did.

“That’s not true.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you, but the fact of the matter is, the government sees differently.” He sits across from me and steeples his fingers. “And what worries me is what they plan to do about it.”

“They can’t do anything. They told me I’d finish out my education here.”

“Emma, it says they consider yourself a danger to others. They plan on taking extreme action very soon.”

“They’re going to bring me in.”

“Precisely.” His glasses get thrown onto the desk and he rub the bridge of his nose. “And I’m afraid there’s little we can do about it.”

I think about the ticket sitting in my computer. “I wouldn’t be so sure. I may be… leaving the country. Soon.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I believe that would be a violation of the protection program.”

“Well who the fuck cares now? I’m sure as hell not going with the feds.” I tell him about the rogue email. “What if I take it?”

He looks at me very, very carefully. Then nods slowly. “I would suggest you do so.”

I stand up so quickly I almost knock my chair over. “Thank you, professor. For warning me. For- everything.”

“Likewise, my dear.”

I run out of the office.

The first thing I do is respond to the email- of course, I will come and identify the body of my poor dead brother, I am so sorry to hear the news. I will be arriving on the flight tomorrow. Thank you for contacting me. I feel a twinge of guilt about lying- the real Emma Brooks deserves to know what happened to her brother. Maybe I’ll track her down once I’m in London.

There isn’t much to pack, thank god. Some clothes that aren’t a uniform, a few of my favorite textbooks, my bag of makeup that makes me feel more secure, as if James wouldn’t recognize me if I have enough eyeliner on. I call a cab, tell them to come ASAP. Then I shut the door to my room, leaving the key in the lock so they can clean it out for whoever lives there next, the poor schmuck.

A thrill runs through me. I’m really doing this. I’m really leaving. The walls of Allington have never seemed so small as I make my way down the corridor, weaving past students chatting happily and teachers walking grumpily to their next class. No one pays any mind to me. As it should be.

I pause for a moment before getting into the cab. This isn’t smart. I have no money, no plan, no one that can help me. But maybe, across the water, I will finally be safe from him.

I get in the cab. 


	6. Casia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Richard Brooks turns up dead, Jim Moriarty’s sister takes the opportunity to falsely identify the body and go on the run. Little does she know how wrapped up she will soon become in her brother’s crimes.

The cab ride is slow-moving and exhausting. The cabbie weaves in and out of traffic in promise of an extra tip if he gets me there ASAP, and he’s doing the best he can. I’m in the backseat toying with my seatbelt, the strings on my sweatshirt, my phone case- anything to keep my hands busy and my mind at relative ease. I still can’t believe I’m doing this. Will they even believe I’m the Emma Brooks they’re looking for? I tried searching Richard Brooks but all I could find is that he was a small-time actor in south London. Not exactly information exclusive to family.

Speaking of family- my absentminded fingers have been scrolling through my contacts, hovering over an unfamiliar number simply named ‘Lavender’. My mother’s favorite flower.

I stare at the number for at least four traffic lights, thumb lingering over the screen like a hummingbird over a Venus flytrap. To do or to don’t.

In the end, fate decides for me, as a screeching lurch throws me forward in my seat, and forces my finger onto the phone number. It begins dialing. I put it up to my ear, a strange combination of excitement and preemptive disappointment. I hadn’t spoken to my parents in over a year. On the one hand, I knew what was coming, but a part of me always hoped that somehow their minds would miraculously be whole again.

“Who is it?”

“Mom? It’s- it’s me.”

“James! James, is that you?”

I wince. “Emma, mom. It’s Emma.”

“Oh, Emma! Hi, honey! How are you?” Her voice is high and lilting, a bird about to take flight at the slightest bit of disturbance. “Have you heard from James, honey? It’s been so long since his last visit, I’m afraid something may have happened-”

It’s always like this. Like nothing ever happened. Like James isn’t the son of the devil himself, burned our house down, tortured us, stole our lives from us. The doctors told me she blocked it out because she couldn’t handle the reality of it all. This doesn’t seem like reality to me.

“Mom? Mom- no, I haven’t heard anything.” I take a breath. “I’m doing fine, mom. How are you?”

“Oh, we’re doing just fine, dear! Your dad is watching TV- honey! Honey come speak to Emma!”

My dad hasn’t spoken in years. I’ve almost forgotten what his voice sounds like. And I’ve never heard his voice without some hint of fear in it. It tinges every memory of him I have.

“That’s okay, I just- I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving. Maybe for good. Mom? Did you hear me?”

“You’re going on a trip? Why, how lovely. Is it a school trip? I hope you’re going skiing, you always did love that-”

I’m almost choking on tears at this point. Hearing her voice triggers every daughter instinct I have, but I now deep down I know there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t heal them. The best daughter in the world couldn’t make up for the hell they’ve been through.

“Yeah, mom. A school trip. It’s not skiing, but it should be fun.”

“Wonderful, wonderful. Do you need anything? I have my snowsuit packed away somewhere, you could borrow it if you need! Oh, you’d look just fabulous in it-”

In the background, I hear another woman’s voice. I pull my phone back and check the time on the illuminated screen. Shift change. The nurse was probably checking in on them for the night. “Okay, mom, I know you’ve got a visitor, so I’m going to go, okay? I’ll- I’ll call you when we get there.”

“Alright, dear. Let me know when you hear from James!”

Memories threaten to overwhelm me, but I force myself to stay in the present. “I will.”

“I love you, Emma.”

A tear works its way down my cheek. “Love you too, mom.” Her information disappears back into the screen as the call disconnects, leaving me staring at my own reflection.

“Miss?” I jerk my head up to the cabbie looking at me with a concerned face. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, thank you. How much do I owe you?”

                                                                                    [][][]

The airport is all glass and grey steel, with little distinction between the matte walls and the dreary weather outside. I can hear the raindrops pelting the roof as I move through security. Flashing the boarding pass purchased for me moves me through the lines in record speed, and I board the plane with time to spare.

I look out at the place that has been my home for the past three years. Not a true home. Artificial, just like everything about the girl who lived there. The only legacy I would leave is a few Latin papers and classmates responding to inquiries with a polite, “who?”

Legends say that ghosts are unable to cross water. The ancestors of slaves would wail at the water’s edge while their children were forced to new lands and new lives. The thought of James pounding his fists and wailing curses into the wind on some desolate beach as the plane rises higher and higher into the air is enough to settle me into an uneasy sleep. 


	7. Somniabunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Richard Brooks turns up dead, Jim Moriarty’s sister takes the opportunity to falsely identify the body and go on the run. Little does she know how wrapped up she will soon become in her brother’s crimes.

The harsh sound of the bell cut through the silence which surrounded the school. In a blur, children burst forth from the doors, running towards the awaiting playground. The teachers hurried out, going to their stations and calling out to kids, while secreting gossiping. A young boy lingered nearby, shuffling his feet along the ground. His right ear was cocked attentively towards the teachers, his mind soaking up their ill-spoken words about their colleagues. He was noticed only moments later, and shooed away.

"Go play," they said, motioning towards the playground that was crawling with snotty-noised children. The boy scowled and ambled off to a corner that was less crowded. He stood, hands in his pockets, eyes narrowed at his classmates. The sun beat down heavily on the boy's all black clothing.

One girl who was running by stopped for a moment.

"Aren't you hot?" she asked, glancing at his choice of clothing.

The boy shrugged and she ran on to catch up with her beckoning friends. He let his gaze wander, looking in disgust at those he was forced to work with.  
  
"Hey!" called another boy from afar. The boy assumed he was talking to someone else and continued to look forward.  
  
"Hey, you! Hey- hey you!" the other boy continued to call until at last, the original one turned. "Come're."   
  
Sighing heavily, the dark-clothed boy walked over slowly, taking his hands out of his pockets and placing them neatly behind his back.  
  
"Wanna play a game?" asked the other, who was clearing the leader. The two friends beside him nodded vigorously. The boy gave no response, to which the others took as an agreement.

"I dare you to jump off the top jungle gym," said the main boy, pointing to the structure that lie a few feet away from them. The boy in black smiled slightly. Clearly the boys in front of him were a few years older, judging by their size. They thought that they were more clever than him. His smile widened.   
  
"Hey! Didn't you hear me? I said-"  
  
"I heard you," the two boys recoiled slightly at the softness of the boy in black's voice. Their leader smirked.

"Go on then," he said, motioning once again to the jungle gym.  
  
The boy in black went on smiling  
  
"I don't think I will," he said cooly.   
  
The leader frowning, trying to size the small boy up. "What's the matter, you afraid?" he leered and his friends grinned in agreement.  
"Certainly not. I just think it would be rather pointless for me to jump off of it, when clearly, you are more suited for the task," said the boy calmly. He watched as the leader slowly worked to comprehend his words. "After all," he continued. "You're bigger than and stronger too, it's quite obvious, that you would want to show off your power to your friends."  
  
The leader was now smiling and nodding in agreement "Yeah," he said. "I'm bigger, that's right."  
  
"So it's only natural that you should jump, to prove your authority," coaxed the boy.  
  
The leader mouthed "authority," tasting the word in his mouth. He clearly had no idea what the word meant, but by the confidence the younger boy had said it, he liked that idea.  
  
"Yeah! I'm gonna do it!" the leader declared, running over and beginning to climb the jungle gym. His friends followed with enthusiasm, calling him to climb higher. At last the boy was at the peak of the structure, his toes hanging dangerously off the edge.   
  
"Look at me!" he called, at first waving one arm in the air, then waving two. His friends yelled with cheers and the leader continued to wave his arms recklessly. The leader's feet began to move, his upper body movement throwing off his body weight ad causing him to sway far way from the structure. He let out a cry and reached for the jungle gym; his feet left the ledge.   
  
The bell rang and children began to run inside; screams penetrated the excited air as girls stared at the leader's crumpled body. The boy in black had merely watched and then turned away. Teachers glanced up from their gossip and rushed forth at the sound of the screams, hurrying to the body and to comfort those around it.   
  
"Go inside!" one ordered while another teacher radioed in help. One teacher approached the boy in black, looking rather concerned.

“James? What happened?”

The boy smiled unnervingly, his canines glinting in the sunlight. “He jumped.”

 


End file.
